


Berena Advent Vignettes

by GratiaPlena



Category: Holby City
Genre: Berena Advent, Berena Advent 2019, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:21:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21632110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GratiaPlena/pseuds/GratiaPlena
Summary: Vignettes for the Berena Advent 2019 prompts.
Relationships: Serena Campbell/Bernie Wolfe
Comments: 16
Kudos: 71
Collections: Berena Advent 2019





	1. Feast

Bernie fiddles with her bow tie. She feels hot, she doesn't know anyone here, and she hates seafood. 

She wishes she were at Serena's in her pyjamas, wearing those ridiculous pink fluffy slippers that Jason gifted her. Instead she is at this formal Christmas dinner in her stuffy suit. 

*

Then she catches the bright smile of Serena next to her. "Oof!" Serena pushes her plate away, and lets herself fall against the back of the chair. It stretches the thin, glittery fabric of Serena's dress, revealing the top edge of a red lacy bra.

"Quite the feast!" says Serena.  
"Hm." Bernie agrees.  
"Eyes up, major," Serena chastises, but when Bernie looks up, she sees a pair of eyes that sparkle more brightly than the dress.  
"Let's have dessert at home?"  
Serena raises one eyebrow in response, and blushes as she looks away.

*

Bernie takes her bow tie off. She feels hot, knows the most important person here intimately, and has a sudden, newfound appreciation for seafood.


	2. Frost

Had she been out her mind? Serena placed a cup on the drying rack, and swirled her hands through the warm dishwashing water, looking out of the back window to a snow covered garden. 

She must have been out of her mind completely. How else had she found the actual nerve to project her own fears of the petty-bourgeois life onto Bernie like that? Furry slippers, bin collecting, swing pushing...she had spoken of these things to Bernie as if they were hell on earth. Of course the woman had run from Jason's wedding. If anything could be counted upon, it was Bernie's ability to run, when she couldn't find the words to speak her truth. Serena had been scared of settling, and it had been only too easy to make Bernie run.

Serena shook the water droplets off of her hands, and dried them on the frilly apron that her mother used to wear. Her eyes were still glued to the wintery scene in her back garden, where shallow footprints in the snow led up to the back garden fence.

She had been out of her mind, and then some.

But thank god that she had realised her monumental mistake in time, had run after Bernie, and had somehow convinced her to stay. Thank god and all relevant angels, because what kind of heavenly scene was unfolding before her!

The garden fence swung open, and in stomped Bernie, all bare limbs, torso wrapped in an old bathrobe of Serena's that was way too short, fur slippers soaked in snow slush, frosty puffs of breath curling up from her nostrils. Instead of trying to drag the wheeled bin through the snow, she had picked it up on one shoulder. She threw the bin down in place, and clapped her gloved hands together to remove the snow from them. Gloves, fur slippers, a leopard print bathrobe, and endless bare legs...

How had it even entered Serena's mind that life with Bernie could be dull? Snow soaked, fur slippers and firemen-style hauled bins and all?

Bernie looked up, and smiled at her. She stomped over to the window, and blew warm breath against the glass. It formed a thin layer of frosted condensation. She drew a heart in it, and grinned.

"Yeah, yeah, domestic goddess!" Serena opened the back door, and took Bernie by the hand. "Come in, before you catch your death out there!" She kissed her, as she closed the door behind her.


	3. Snow & dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I adopted this Frozen AU headcanon from Wonko!

Long ago, in a land far, far away, there lived a kind, adventurous Princess by the name of Berenice.  
She was as handsome and decisive as her father, the old King, and people whispered that she was as intelligent and as talented a sculptor as her mother, the Old Queen, had been.

When Princess Berenice turned 37, and she returned from her travels all around the world, her father felt, that it was time for her to get married, to secure an heir to the kingdom. He organised a big winter ball and invited suitable, single noblemen from far and wide to attend. 

A flurry of tailors created a ball gown for Berenice from the finest silks. The gown hugged her frame, and it swirled out in wisps of icy blues, deep cold purples, and stark snowy whites. Her hair was pinned up with fine silvery pins. She looked stunning.

So stunning in fact, that the attending young men trembled when they approached her, their knees knocked when they danced. Their opinions on art were uninformed, and they stammered when they spoke to her.

She found them lacking.

And so her ballgown was hung away for a year. She heard the tailors whisper as they untied and unzipped her out of her gown. What was wrong with their princess to dismiss so many fine men? 

A new winter ball was organised a year later. Her father invited learned single noblemen from all the ancient lineages around the globe.

This time the invited men had no trouble approaching the stunning princess, used to grace and splendour as they all were. They elegantly led her in dance, critiqued her art masterfully, and were well versed in most worldly topics.

She found them so utterly boring.

And so her ballgown was stored away for another year. She looked sternly at her tailors when they unzipped and untied her from her gown. She would tolerate no gossip this year! And so they were silent. But inside Berenice a harsh voice whispered: what is wrong with you, to dismiss so many fine men?

When winter came around again, her father organised the winter ball once more. He invited the most adventurous and well-travelled noblemen from the most exotic places on this earth. They were eager to attend.  
Just after she was dressed in her beautiful gown, but just before her grand entrance at the ball, her father called her to his chambers. "I am old and weak, and will not have long to live," he said with frail voice, as he coughed a dry cough, his face tensing momentarily from pain. "I would like to see my daughter married."  
"Yes, papa." Berenice curtsied. She wanted, quite badly, to hug him, but when she looked up into his eyes, she saw grave concern in them. His eyes mirrored her own internal questioning. Just what was wrong with her?

And so she turned away, and she attended the ball. She was nervous about each noble hero's approach. She tensed up as they fiercely dragged her around the ballroom in wild dance, and she smiled and nodded politely as they deeply misunderstood her sculptures, yet still voiced their critiques boldly.

She found herself fading away in their presence.

And instead of returning to her chambers, she ran out into the snow covered mountains, up the small icy path to the shepherds refuge. Her mother had taken her there many a summer's night to look at the Milky Way together.  
She barricaded the doors, and fell down on the hard, hayfilled mattress. The same old question echoing through her mind: what was wrong with her?

*

Every day a servant was sent up to her to persuade her to come down the mountain. But every day her answer was the same.  
"Leave me some food and some firewood, and let me be."

The servant left, and once it was dark, the princess opened the door, and took the food and the firewood and the daily letter from her father. She made a fire, burnt the letter without reading it, and ate the food. Then she would go out in the snow to sculpt. At first her hands sculpted what she knew. Animals from the region, heroes from the past.  
But soon the one big question began to dominate her sculpting too. What was wrong with her?

Day after day, she burnt her father's letter, then sculpted in the night, her sorrow transforming to abstract snow sculptures.

Until, one day, there were no more letters. And the sculptures took on a deeper sorrow than before.

A distant cousin took to the throne of the kingdom, and a servant continued the daily climb to the refuge with food and firewood. The servant was no longer asked to plead for her return to the castle. There was no place for her there. Not anymore.

And so she began, in the winter months, to sculpt in daylight, as well as at night. She found that the sun was gentler on her than the moon had been.  
She no longer asked herself what was wrong with her, but began to ask herself: what kind of nobleman WOULD she have married? And she started to sculpt a beautiful prince. He was of average height, had short silvered hair that glistened in sunlight and twinkled in moonlight. He was strong but gentle. His eyes were compassionate but sharp and all-seeing, never judgemental. His fingers were slender and nimble. 

Berenice looked forward to the daylight, to return to work on sculpting her prince. At night she dreamt of the conversations they'd have. They would speak of their art - he was an artist too but of a different discipline. Music, perhaps? They would speak of all worldly affairs. He was her match in intellect, but was never keen to show off. And the way they would dance!  
He would take her in his arms firmly but gently, nervous only of just how well they fit together, how effortless their bodies communicated their anticipated steps, how deep their mutual desire burnt within them.

During the night she dreamt of him. During the day she sculpted him. The sculpting had turned into more of a caressing now. She knew each curve of his hips, each swell of his breast, the frown line on his brow…

The days were getting longer, which meant that she could spend more time with her prince in sunlight, but it made her dreams at night turn more frantic. Because she was well aware of the fact that the snow on top of her mountain would melt soon. Her prince would trickle away, down the mountain, into a cold spring brook.  
The short time that they still had together made her dreams more vivid. Their passion inflamed!  
At daytime she sculpted with hands, as well as lips.

*

Then one night, near the time that spring was to arrive, something else arrived at her doorstep unexpectedly.  
She was in the midst of one of her dreams, calling out the secret name of her Love, when she heard a voice outside her window.

"Ach aye, lassie, let me in for a bit!"

Princess Berenice looked out of her window and saw a graceful, wild-haired cat on her doorstep.  
"Jump in through the window, if you like," she shrugged.  
"Ai no, it is beneath me, I find," said the cat.  
Berenice took a while to unlock the door, and let the cat in.  
"Excuse me for intruding upon that exquisite dream," spoke the cat, as it turned a few loops on her mattress to find the exact middle. He let himself plop down, and stuck up his hind leg. Between licks he said: "Only I am the terrible Wizard of these mountains, but I currently have the appearance of a cat, do I not?" He peered in her direction for a moment, then continued to lick his leg.  
"You certainly do." Berenice never was one for softening the truth.  
"Aye.." The cat smacked his lips. "A tiny mishap… Would you be a dear, and cook me a tincture to return me to my former glory? I have tried, but I quite miss my opposable thumbs."  
Berenice, given her royal upbringing, was familiar with bargaining with magical folk. "I will help you, but I ask a favour in return."  
"Name your price," said the cat, and yawned while stretching out his claws.  
"I want you to make my statue immune to melting."  
"Acceptable," said the cat, as his eyes began to droop and a pleasant purring filled the room.

Berenice looked out into the night, where her prince was sparkling in the light of the stars.

*

The next day Berenice woke with a start. She was sitting at the window, and the wizardly cat was meowing to be let out of the door.  
"Off you go," she said, as she let him out into the crisp morning air.

He returned an hour later with several types of dried mushrooms, some roots and a half rotten dead toad. He instructed her to cut these things into pieces and made her add very exact portions to boiling water. Then she had to stir the mixture for a long while until it became an exact shade of pink, sieve out the pieces of toad that hadn't dissolved, and then they waited for the tincture to cool down. 

"Och, you know what," said the cat after half an hour or so. "I've changed my mind, lass." He stood up and stretched. "If you don't mind opening the door for me, I'd rather stay a cat. I'll see you around some time?"  
"Wait a minute, what about my sculpture?" said Bernie. "We had a deal!"  
"Aye, so we had, quite right" said the cat. He stepped across the threshold and whistled through his teeth.  
Immediately the colours of the iced snow sculpture began to change from a bluish white to a peachy pink.  
Then the snow started to melt.  
Berenice gave a shrill cry.  
"Hold your tongue, lass!" hissed the cat. "Overexcitable creatures, people are," he muttered. He whistled again, and out of the snow sculpture stepped a beautiful woman, dressed in a simple turquoise gown. Her hair was short and silvery, her eyes were sharp but kind, her fingers slender and nimble. Every curve of her hip, every swell of her breast, even the little frown in her forehead was so familiar to Berenice. But this wasn't a prince!

"What is wrong with me?" asked her stunning sculpture, come to life, upon seeing the scared look in Berenice's eyes.

Berenice quickly looked at the cat, who simply winked before he dashed off.

"Absolutely nothing, my love." She held out her hand to Serena, the noble woman of her dreams.

And they lived happily ever after, in their refuge, with their occasionally visiting, wizardly cat.


End file.
